


What If?

by LilyEllison



Series: What If? [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Drunken Confessions, Episode: s02e05 Kinbaku, Episode: s03e06 The Devil You Know, F/M, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, Pregnancy, Sharing a Bed, Wedding Fluff, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: A collection of canon divergence ficlets and future musings.What If...1. Karen told Matt about Wesley in 3x06?2. Dex came back post-S3?3. We got to see Karen and Matt at Marci and Foggy's wedding?4. Father Lantom talked to Karen at the end of The Defenders?5. Matt came upstairs in 2x05? (rom-com version)6. Matt and Karen had a baby?7. We got to see Karen and Matt at Marci and Foggy's wedding? (Take 2)8. Matt and Karen got married?9. Matt confessed his feelings (in a heartbreaking way)?10. Matt and Karen got drunk one night?
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Series: What If? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706845
Comments: 115
Kudos: 70





	1. What if ... Karen told Matt about Wesley in 3x06?

**Prompt from[Anonymous on Tumblr](https://lily-ellison.tumblr.com/post/189766827071/prompt-what-would-happen-in-3x06-if-karen-told): What would happen in 3x06 if Karen told Matt about Wesley when he showed up at her apartment to ask for help about Jasper Evans? What would Matt's reaction be? One of sympathy? How much would Karen explain to him about that night?**

* * *

“You need to pay me back for your rent.”

Karen stared at the Devil in front of her, filled with a huge, sweeping relief and an even bigger urge to hit him with the top of the toilet tank. Instead, she put it down and stalked toward the kitchen, needing caffeine badly.

“I’ve been staying where I grew up,” Matt said as he followed her. “There’s a reason I—” He cut himself off. The pause stretched until it was as taut as a bow string. “You’ve been crying,” he said, matter-of-factly.

She sighed and reached for the coffee. “Yeah, well, I just found out I wasted a lot of time worrying about someone who didn’t give a shit.”

“Karen—” And she turned around with a scowl, bracing herself for whatever bullshit explanation he was going to try to give her. But then he shook his head. “That’s not it. You’re scared. And not of me.”

“You don’t get to read my heart anymore, Matt. Stop trying.”

He took a few steps closer, until he was standing behind her kitchen table. “If it’s something about Fisk—”

“He’s got the FBI after us. All of us.”

“But you didn’t jeopardize all our cases, Karen. You didn’t have knowledge of any of that at the time. It’s me he wants. If I have to, I’ll tell them—”

She didn’t want to hear any more of his self-sacrificing crap. “Nadeem. The FBI agent,” she said sharply. “He was asking about Confederated Global.”

“That’s on me. I’m the one who chose to represent Healy, even after knowing that guy who hired us was working for Fisk.” Then his face crinkled and his head tilted and she knew what he was hearing. She cursed her goddamn heart for speeding up. “It’s that guy? What happened?”

“Fuck,” she whispered. She had never resented Matt Murdock more than in that moment.

“I _knew_ there was something—”

And it was only a matter of time before he found out anyway. What possible difference could it make now?

“I killed him, Matt,” she spit out. “James Wesley. I killed him.” She couldn’t look at his face. She couldn’t _bear_ to see his face.

“Jesus, Karen. What—?”

“He, uh, he kidnapped me, after we went to see Fisk’s mother,” she choked out. “And he said he’d kill you and Foggy and…there was a gun on the table and I…”

“God. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She risked it then. She looked at him.

“How the hell could I? At best you’d hate me, at worst you’d…turn me in.”

“Oh, Karen. No.”

She made a helpless sniffling sound. He sat down, rubbed his hands over his face. Then he said, “Do you remember that night Mrs. Cardenas was killed?”

“What?” she said, bewildered. “Of course.”

“You said… and I’ll never forget this. You said you prayed the Mask got his hands on Fisk and he knocked his goddamn head off.”

Ice ran through her veins. “I didn’t know—”

“And I went home, and I got the mask and I…I went to kill him. It wasn’t self-defense or even the heat of the moment. It was…premeditated murder. And the only reason it didn’t happen was because he almost killed me first.” He breathed in and out, shaking his head. “I should have done it. I would have saved so many lives. I was just…delaying the inevitable.”

“No, Matt. That—no. There has to be another way.”

He licked his lips, tilted his face up to the ceiling. “Yeah. Maybe.” He turned his face toward her. “Maybe there is, if you help me. Would you do that, Karen?”

And she wanted to slam the door in his face. She didn’t want to risk letting him rip her insides out again. But he didn’t hate her. And dammit, she couldn’t say no.


	2. What if ... Dex came back post-S3?

**Our heroes have evidence that Benjamin Poindexter is back and scarier than ever. Matt doesn’t want Karen in her apartment alone…**

* * *

Eventually, Matt falls into an uneasy sleep. But he shoots off the couch when he hears a soft cry from Karen, registers her pounding heartbeat. He’s in her room before he’s even fully awake.

She’s only dreaming. There’s no one else in the apartment.

He reaches down to shake her gently by the shoulders. “Wake up, Karen,” he says. “It’s OK. You’re OK.”

“Matt?” she says, gasping out her words. “Oh, god, you’re here. You’re here.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close. “I’m here,” he echoes soothingly.

Then her body goes rigid. He can feel the heat of embarrassment rise in her skin. He pulls away, feeling suddenly intrusive.

She sighs and sits up. “Sorry I woke you.”

He shakes his head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t answer, and her body doesn’t tell him whether that means yes or no.

“Poindexter?” he asks gently.

Her head ducks down. “No…Those kinds of dreams are terrifying, but they’re always different. This one is always the same.”

He waits while she takes a deep breath. Her hands whisper through her hair, pushing it away from her face.

“Midland Circle,” she says. “The building collapses, and I can hear…screaming. And I dig and dig, but I never find…”

Her skin rasps softly as she rubs one hand over the other, covering phantom wounds.

“Karen,” he breathes, guilt punching into his stomach harder than any blow he’s taken while wearing the suit. His head is swirling. He’d convinced himself so thoroughly that they were better off without him, that he was doing them a favor by keeping his brokenness out of their lives, that it had never really sunk in, what it was like for them.

The pain closes around him, and he turns away, burying his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she says. “And I know you had…reasons. But it’s not better yet. It’s going to take more time. We just need you to…stick it out.”

He nods, turning back. And before he can stop himself, he’s stretching out on the rug beside her bed.

She huffs out a little laugh. “You can go back to the couch.”

“If it’s OK with you, I’d rather be right here.”

A pillow lands on his face in response, followed by the throw blanket from the end of her bed. They both smell like her. He makes himself slightly more comfortable and waits for her breathing to even out.


	3. What if ... we got to see Karen and Matt at Marci and Foggy's wedding?

The happy couple had offered Karen a spot in the wedding party, but she’d cheerfully declined the honor of being one of Marci’s army of bridesmaids or Foggy’s _third_ best man. Instead, she’d agreed to do a reading during the service.

All of Matt’s senses went into overdrive as he listened to a voice he loved so much recite St. Paul’s timeless words to the Corinthians. “Love is patient. Love is kind…”

The church was noticeably quieter, everyone seeming as caught up in the spell of Karen’s words as he was.

When she read, “Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth,” he thought he felt her attention on him, and his face got hot. “It always protects,” she continued, her voice faltering a little with emotion. Matt’s heart began to race.

Theo poked him with his elbow. “Dude,” he said under his breath.

So there was no doubt Karen _was_ looking at him.

She finished the reading without another hitch, but it took much longer for Matt’s heart to recover its calm.

* * *

All throughout the day, every time he heard Foggy laugh, whether right by Matt's elbow or clear across the room, Matt couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He was feeling light as air by the time he plopped down into the chair next to Karen at the reception and she pressed her glass of whiskey into his hand.

“Nice toast,” she said. “The secret of the avocados revealed.”

“I’ve been waiting years to have a captive audience for that story.”

“I’m sure Foggy is just thrilled that you shared it.” She laughed, a golden thread that spooled out in his head as they lapsed into silence for awhile.

“They’re so happy.” Karen’s voice sounded wistful, and something squeezed around Matt’s heart.

“They deserve it.”

“Yeah,” she said, taking back her glass and swallowing the last of its contents.

Suddenly, he wanted very badly to put his arms around her.

“Dance with me?”

They were stiff at first, trying to find their rhythm. But then Karen sighed and moved closer. And who knew when he’d have the chance to dance with her again, so he pressed his cheek against hers.

He wasn’t sure if she was ready for more yet, or even if he was, but he was still hopeful that somehow everything would fall into place.

No matter what, he hoped the threads of Karen’s life and of Foggy’s would always be entwined with his in the grand tapestry that none of them could see.

And for now, Matt Murdock was happy.


	4. What if ... Father Lantom talked to Karen at the end of The Defenders?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by steelorchids' excellent [Show me the way back home (when I'm lost)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910309). How canon might have diverged to allow Karen and Matt to be in an established relationship in Season 3.

Karen was still sitting in Clinton Church long after Foggy had said his goodbyes, long after Foggy had made her promise to go home and rest. She was still sitting there in a pew when Matt’s priest came out from behind the altar.

She watched as he attended to some business in the front of the church and then came down the steps to sit beside her.

“I’ve seen you here before, I think,” he said.

“Yes. I was one of the people at Grotto—at Elliot Grote’s funeral. And we saw each other at Ben Urich’s service before that.” She cleared her throat. “Karen Page.”

“Ah, yes. You’re a friend of Matthew’s.”

Karen choked back a sob — just hearing his name spoken aloud sent fresh pain searing through her chest. “I—I don’t know if you’ve heard. He’s...uh, he’s missing.”

“Yes. Something to do with that accident in Midtown?”

Karen looked at him, startled. “We—we don’t know. Maybe he just...decided he needed some time away.”

“I see.” Lantom sighed. “I knew Matthew well as a boy. I find the man is harder to understand.”

“Yes.” Karen smiled weakly. “He makes choices sometimes that are...difficult for the people who care about him.”

“You might say he’s rather... _daring_ in that way.”

Karen looked at him sharply again.

“You might,” she said, nodding. “Yeah. He’s willing to risk his life so others don’t have to. And sometimes that means paying a price.”

“And a high one. But not all hope is lost, Miss Page.”

“No?” Her voice was tentative, searching for the meaning hidden behind his words.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

She was helpless to do anything but follow him — down the long aisle of the church and outside, through the door of the orphanage next door. Her heart was racing the entire time. Did he have something of Matt’s? Had he gotten some kind of message from him?

She never once dared hope for what she found when she followed him into the orphanage’s infirmary, into a back room tucked away.

“Matt!”

She gasped out his name and rushed forward to the bed where he was lying, covered in bandages and unconscious but alive. She knelt down and took one of his hands in her own.

She looked back at Lantom. “How—?”

“He was delivered here by a man who found him down by the river. We have no idea how he survived. He was wearing—“

“The suit? Do you have it?”

“It was in tatters. The sisters already destroyed it.”

Karen nodded.

“They’ve been sworn to secrecy. Me too, of course. But when I saw you suffering so...”

“Thank you. Thank you, Father. So much.”

He smiled tightly and left the room.

A few long minutes passed. Alone with him, all Karen could think was _oh, Matt_ and _why?_

She was relieved to be with him, but fear was still slithering around in her stomach. He didn’t look good. She was worried about the extent of his injuries, but she reached up to touch his face anyway.

Without warning, a small but formidable nun entered, pinning Karen with a severe look. Karen pulled back from Matt’s face, though she didn’t let go of his hand.

“This is not a hospital. We don’t have visiting hours,” the nun said sternly. “You shouldn’t be here. For that matter, neither should he.”

Karen stared at her, shocked. This was who was taking care of Matt?

“Where would we go? There’s no other place for him,” Karen said eventually, softly. “He needs you.”

The nun scoffed. “He’s never needed me.”

“What?”

“Matthew is one of ours. Grew up here. He’s always been a fighter.”

Karen looked down at the broken man in the bed and tears crept into her voice. “Even fighters need help getting back up sometimes,” she said.

“So they do,” the nun responded, more gently now, a faraway look in her eyes.

“Neither of us is going anywhere,” Karen said firmly. “Not until he’s well enough to go home.”

The nun raised her chin, her mouth set in a thin line, and disappeared through the door. Soon, another nun appeared in the doorway with a wooden chair that she left next to the bed.

Karen was true to her word. She left to call Foggy and, when she couldn’t put it off anymore, to shower and change and work, but she came back as much as she could. Foggy came, too, at times, but the nuns did a better job of scaring him off. And it _was_ a delicate business, what they were doing, the secret they were keeping. But Karen couldn’t stay away. Sometimes she even slept in that hard chair in his room overnight.

On one of those nights, early on, the scary nun — who Karen had quickly learned was Sister Maggie — came in to check his dressings. Karen woke with a start at the sound of the door. She was still holding Matt’s hand. She forced herself to let go.

Sister Maggie started her work. “You...you love him very much,” she said as she touched one of his bandages.

“What?” Karen looked up, wiping at the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“You heard what I said.”

Karen breathed out and bit her lip. “Yes. Yes, I love him,” she said, her eyes focused on Matt’s face. It was almost a relief to finally say it out loud. “I’m not sure I should, but I do.”

“In my experience, God doesn’t send us love by mistake. It’s generally the running away from it that’s the mistake.”

“Well, neither of us is running anywhere right now,” Karen said, a touch sardonically.

Sister Maggie actually laughed, a warm, dry sound that made Karen like her.

“If he’s anything like his parents, he’ll need you to keep holding on tight.”

“You knew Matt’s parents well?”

“Well enough,” Sister Maggie said awkwardly. “The Kitchen can be a small place.”

Yes. Karen knew that all too well. Every single block of it had a way of screaming with memories — this is where we got ice cream that time, this is the way we walked home that night. It had been hard, during their estrangement, always having Matt so close.

She wanted to ask Sister Maggie more questions about Matt’s parents, about what he was like as a kid, but something told her they would be unwelcome. Better to ask Father Lantom. Or Matt himself, when he woke up.

Because he was going to wake up. She never doubted that, even for a second. And if she had any control over it, the first thing he’d be aware of was her holding his hand.

Holding on tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some ideas for turning this into a longer fic, so let me know if you'd be interested in that... I like the idea of Karen developing a relationship with Maggie, and both Karen and Matt having to deal with the fallout of her revelation together. Also, I'm not a huge fan of the way the Maggie reveal happened (I have to headcanon that she wanted him to know), and I like the idea of Karen doing some investigating instead...


	5. What if ... Matt went upstairs in 2x05? (rom-com version)

"And if I stop now, then I get to keep this one perfect night. And also have the chance of keeping it going tomorrow. And the day after...."

"And the day after that...And the—"

"Exactly."

He's kissing Karen's forehead, feeling more than a little pleased that he managed to explain in a way she could understand, without giving too much away. Nothing has to change. Not tonight, at least.

But then, he can feel it. An indrawn breath, a hesitation.

“Matt, can I ask...”

"What?"

She huffs out a nervous shadow of a laugh. "Never mind." Her hand whispers over her face. "It’s OK."

"Ask me," he presses, though he feels a flash of danger at his own words. What exactly is he inviting?

"Well" — she turns her head, her voice slightly farther away — "what kind of disaster are you concerned about...upstairs? Is it—are you sure it's not me?"

He reaches out and finds her chin, turns her face slowly back to his. "Karen, no. Please don't think that." And he has to kiss her again. She has to know that she makes him weak with desire, that he would like nothing more than to take her upstairs. And maybe he goes a little overboard with his demonstration of affection, because their banked fire roars back into flame and then flashes over. He is breathless against her mouth and aching under her hands and while he knows none of his problems have changed in the space of a few minutes, he also knows he can no longer walk away from her, no matter where the night leads.

"Is...is that offer still open?" he murmurs in her ear.

"You want to change your mind?"

" _Yes_."

"I—I didn’t mean to pressure you."

"Karen," he says, kissing her with urgency.

"OK," she breathes, breaking away. "C'mon."

Their progress up the stairwell is the most wonderfully agonizing kind of slow. He doesn't quite want to arrive at their destination, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get to kiss Karen again after tonight, so he doesn't mind that they can barely stay apart long enough to climb the stairs. There's stumbling, and ricocheting, and laughter, and many, many kisses.

Then, finally, Karen opens the door with her key, leading him inside by the hand. “So...this is my place.”

“Love it,” Matt says distractedly, backing into the door until it closes firmly, tugging Karen along with him. He winds his arms around her, holding her close, pulling her back into a kiss as her hands come up to rest on his shoulders. “Smells like you,” he adds, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

“And that’s a good thing?” She pushes back from his shoulders, puts a little bit of space between them.

“That’s the best thing," he says seriously, and then his smile stretches wide.

She doesn’t move or say anything for a moment and he can’t read her expression. “What is it?” he asks softly.

“Don’t stop smiling,” she says. She reaches up with her hand to trace her fingertips around the corner of his eye. “When you smile, you get these little crinkles here. It’s a good day when I get to see them. I...I've always wanted to touch them like this,” she finishes shyly.

He leans forward, trailing his lips toward her ear. “Mostly I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs, pressing slow, wet kisses down her neck. "Your skin is so sweet." He pulls her closer, so their bodies are flush against each other. "You're a dream, Karen. And I don't want to wake up."

She sighs his name and guides his face back to hers. She shifts, pressing him solidly into the door, her mouth sliding over his hungrily. His hands settle on her hips.

"Why don't you take off your jacket and stay a while?" she says teasingly in between kisses. Her fingers work under his lapels, and he stiffens.

It’s long past time to stop. He's sailed by every warning sign in his head. And this is the point of no return. Even if he could explain away the scars she would eventually uncover — car crashes, falls, all the same old tunes — this is too sacred for that. He can’t lie to her, not here, not like this.

"Wait," he says, his hands covering hers, stilling them. "I have to tell you something."

He keeps ahold of her hands, just in case it’s the last chance he ever gets to touch her.

"What is it?" she says, sounding a little dazed.

He takes a deep breath, wets his lips. "I'm Daredevil."

She laughs.

He’s so shocked that he can’t speak, and she leans in to kiss him. "Do you use that line on all the girls, or was my crush on him just that obvious?"

"No, Karen, I'm serious,” he says, finding his words again.

She giggles, biting her lip. "Mmm, you want to play, huh?" she says, and he can feel her skin flush with interest. "OK, _Daredevil_."

"No, I mean, I don't—" But his stuttering is interrupted when she reaches for something nearby, hanging by the door, and she starts to wrap a piece of fabric — a scarf? — over the top half of his face.

He hears the exact moment it happens. Her breath catches and her heart hammers and goosebumps break out on her skin.

"....Holy shit, Matt," she gasps. "You—you're Daredevil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m SORRY but I had this idea and it made me laugh so much I had to write it. Please forgive me.


	6. What if ... Matt and Karen had a baby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archiving some Tumblr prompts!

**Prompt from[Anonymous on Tumblr](https://lily-ellison.tumblr.com/post/613701816190976000/dont-image-matt-sitting-on-the-side-of-the-bed): Don't imagine Matt sitting on the side of the bed, listening to Karen sleep, while running his finger up and down her back, luxuriating in the feel of her skin.**

Karen’s breathing has evened out finally. She’s asleep. But Matt keeps running his fingers softly over her back, unable to stop touching her. She’s been miserable the last few days, needing lots of his time and attention and massages, but he hasn’t minded in the least.

Her skin is soft as flower petals, warm as summer breezes. To him, she always smells of rain and roses and home. She sighs sometimes in her sleep. And it’s better when she can’t remember her dreams.

He knows he should lie down beside her. Try to get some rest. But he’s keyed up, his muscles aching for a fight. They decided it was time for him to stop now, for a few weeks at the very least — the last thing Karen wants is to need him and not be able to find him.

It’s a wonderful feeling, in a way. To know that he’s the only person in the world that she wants right now. That he cannot be replaced. But it’s scary as hell, too. He’s taken the weight of the world on his shoulders, he’s always taken on too much, but this weight feels different. Both heavy with importance and light with joy.

He hears a stirring and he groans a bit internally. Not now, he thinks, but he can’t help but smile.

He slides his hand from Karen’s back to her swollen belly. He says, very, very quietly, but sternly, “Don’t even think about kicking, Elena. Mommy needs her rest.”

He finally stretches out behind Karen, his arm wrapping loosely over her. It will be hours before he can sleep, but this is the only place he wants to be tonight.

* * *

**Prompt from[Anonymous on Tumblr](https://lily-ellison.tumblr.com/post/613953448012054528/dont-imagine-matt-holding-his-baby-and-just): Don't imagine Matt holding his baby and just marveling at how soft the baby's skin is or how new they smell. **

Matt cuddled his daughter closer as he sat in the warm sunshine of the window, humming a lullaby low in his chest, softly enough that he didn’t disturb Karen. She deserved all the rest she could possibly get. He was in utter awe of her.

Matt had long hated hospitals but he didn’t mind it so much right now. Not when he could block everything else out by focusing on the sheer marvel of a swift, bird-like heartbeat and a powdery, milky scent.

He was glad Elena was safely in his arms and he was even gladder that the memories of what it took to get her there already seemed to be dulling at the edges.

Elena’s birth was the most magical moment of his life, but bearing witness to Karen’s pain had been excruciating. He’d done everything he could — giving her water when she needed it, massaging pain points, encouraging her to squeeze his hand till it felt like hamburger. He was grateful that she’d taken mercy on the both of them and opted for the drugs. Not that it was all rainbows, even after that, but she was flagging after so many hours and he was crying and—

The ding of the elevator down the hall pierced his thoughts and he pushed them away with relief. He leaned over and kissed Elena’s impossibly soft forehead, stealing one last moment of wonder before the footsteps reached them. Then he got up to open the door.

“Hey, buddy,” Foggy said quietly as he entered the room. Just the sound of his voice made Matt feel on the edge of tears.

“Uncle Foggy,” he said through the lump in his throat, “meet Elena Page Murdock.”

“Welcome to the world, Elena,” Foggy cooed. “Let’s just get this out of the way right now. I’m your favorite uncle, OK?”

To Matt he added, “I cried like—well, no offense, Elena, but like a baby when I saw your text about her name.” He swallowed. “I might cry again.”

Matt smiled emotionally, adjusting Elena slightly as she squirmed.

“I can see you’re impatient for your birthday present,” Foggy said, recovering. “I got you the softest little duckie. I couldn’t help myself, once I saw how much you looked like your handsome old duck of a dad.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Matt groaned in a half-whisper. “I want her to take after Karen.”

“I think babies generally look like their dads at first.” Foggy paused, letting out an appraising breath. “And maybe a bit like Winston Churchill.”

“I am going to pretend that you didn’t just compare my precious daughter to an old British man.” Matt shook his head. “Now go wash your hands so you can hold her. And don’t skimp on the soap and hot water.”

“Awww,” Foggy said, clapping his hand on Matt’s back. “You’re a great dad already, pal.”


	7. What if ... we got to see Karen and Matt at Marci and Foggy's wedding? (Take 2)

**Prompt from[Anonymous on Tumblr](https://lily-ellison.tumblr.com/post/614046154060103680/awww-thats-too-bad-what-about-just-something): What about just something with daffodils and butterflies?**

“And the ceremony is going to be in the botanical garden. We’ll be surrounded by daffodils and butterflies.” Marci smiled triumphantly, a faraway look in her eyes. “The pictures are going to look amazing.”

“What if it rains?” Karen asked, leaning her elbow on her desk.

Marci’s eyes narrowed. “The universe wouldn’t dare to let it rain on my wedding day,” she said firmly.

Karen raised her eyebrows, but she had to admit, she believed it.

And sure enough, the day of Foggy and Marci’s wedding dawned clear-skied and sunny, with zero chance of rain in the forecast. Karen was just a little peeved — a perverse part of her kind of wanted to find out what happened when the universe didn’t accede to Marci Stahl’s demands.

The day passed in a blur of preparations, and all too soon, Karen was walking down the aisle in her thank-god-I-can-wear-this-again gauzy blue dress, holding the arm of one of Foggy’s friends from high school — Tim or Tad or something. He’d just flown in from California, and Karen had kind of spaced on the introductions when she spotted Matt in his perfectly fitted gray linen suit.

He was walking right ahead of her now, with Marci’s maid of honor, and the butterflies in her stomach felt more numerous than the ones floating around the garden.

She wondered if they’d get the chance to dance at the reception. She wondered if he ever felt butterflies when he thought of her. She wondered if there would ever be a chance for them again. Why couldn’t the universe ever seem to grant _her_ wishes?

She caught herself watching Matt as her friends traded vows. No matter how she tried to ignore it, he kept pulling her focus. And when Foggy kissed his bride, Karen’s smile was real and wide, but the tears that misted her eyes were maybe not entirely joyous.

“Nice ceremony,” Matt said at her elbow after they’d all reached the end of the aisle, and the guests were starting to mill about.

“It was beautiful,” Karen sighed, though what she really meant was _You’re beautiful_.

“You know, I’m not sure I recognize the specific smell of daffodils well enough to know if we’re really surrounded by them,” he said.

“Oh, we definitely are,” Karen said as they walked a little distance away from the throng of well-wishers, farther into the garden. Crowds were never Matt’s thing. “It’s yellow and white everywhere you look.”

“How about the butterflies?”

“They’re everywhere, too,” Karen said, looking around in wonder. “Oh, and one just landed on your shoulder. Don’t move.”

He stayed completely still, but the orange-and-black marvel soon took flight anyway. Karen felt a little stab of disappointment, and she let out a soft sigh, but it turned into a gasp when Matt turned her chin and pressed his lips to hers. They were warm and sweet and tender.

“I tried to listen to its wings,” he murmured as he pressed their foreheads together. “But I can’t seem to focus on anything but you.”

So maybe the universe _was_ paying attention to more than just Marci after all.


	8. What if ... Matt and Karen got married?

**Prompt from[Anonymous on Tumblr](https://lily-ellison.tumblr.com/post/614157285632196608/hi-you-wonderful-writer-you-its-the-anon-again): Your take on Matt and Karen's wedding**

In the end, they had gotten married at the church. Karen had expected a quickie courthouse ceremony, since of course she wasn’t Catholic. But it turned out that Father Rivera, like Father Lantom before him, was a small-c catholic when it came to things like this. Karen guessed he kind of had to be. If you wanted a flock in Hell’s Kitchen these days, you needed to accept sheep of all colors.

When Matt told her about the priest’s offer to marry them, he was glowing so brightly that Karen didn’t even need convincing. She was in.

And it was a perfect ceremony — understated flowers, understated dress, understated crowd. And beautiful, too — stained-glass-colored sunshine, Maggie’s joyous tears that she couldn’t hide, Matt in a tuxedo.

But it was their second wedding that was Karen’s favorite. They surprised Matt on the roof on the first night he went out after their honeymoon (a secluded cabin in the Poconos. Karen figured she might be able to get him to the Caribbean by their five-year anniversary. Baby steps.)

Karen was wearing a dark red dress she’d bought on a whim earlier in the day. Foggy and Marci were dressed like they’d just closed down Josie’s on a Saturday night, which they had.

“Karen?” Matt said, standing there in his black mask. She was lucky tonight. He wasn’t actively bleeding. “What’s going on?”

She took both his gloved hands. “Just go with it.”

Foggy cleared his throat. “I, Franklin P. Nelson, invested with no power by absolutely no authority whatsoever, welcome you here at nearly the ass-crack of dawn to celebrate the marriage of this hero-slash-idiot Daredevil to this hero-slash-idiot Karen Page.” He paused then. “Karen, I think you should have a code name for this. The Paginator?”

“Ugh, that’s awful, Foggy Bear!” hissed Marci, who had started playing Pachelbel’s Canon over her phone’s tinny speaker. “Don’t ruin it!”

“Fine. Karen, I believe you had some vows you wanted to make?”

Karen looked at her husband’s sweet face, half covered by the mask, half covered in a huge smile.

“Matt, I can’t promise you that I won’t worry, because I will, but I can promise that I will support you as we face our fears together. I can’t promise you that I’ll be perfect, because I won’t, but I can promise to try to be the best person I can be, because that’s who I want to be when I’m with you. And I _can_ promise not to ask you to give this up” — she reached up and touched the edge of his mask — “because it’s a part of you, and I love all of you.”

When she took his hand again, he squeezed both of hers hard, and she blinked back happy tears.

“Matt, I know you’re not prepared for this, but anything you want to say?” Foggy asked.

Matt wet his lips, breathing shakily. “Karen,” he said, his voice choked with emotion, “I, uh, I can’t promise not to do anything reckless, because I think I always will, but I can promise to try not to do anything more reckless than necessary. I promise to trust you, even when I feel like I can’t trust myself. And I promise to love you, all of you, for as long as I have breath.”

Karen couldn’t hold her tears back anymore. They spilled over.

“You always were good at improvising,” Foggy said. Karen thought he might be crying too. “Now—“

“Wait,” Matt said. “I want her to promise, too. Not to be more reckless than necessary.”

Foggy chuckled. “OK. Do you, Karen, take this vigilante to be your husband and also not to do anything more stupid than absolutely necessary, as long as you both shall live?”

She laughed, too. “I do.”

“Daredevil, how about you? Do you agree to all that?”

“I do.”

“All right, Mr. Devil, you may now kiss the woman that you are already completely legally married to.”

Foggy didn’t need to tell them twice.


	9. What if ... Matt confessed his feelings (in a heartbreaking way)?

**Prompt from[clarissemcc on Tumblr](https://lily-ellison.tumblr.com/post/614839877525176320/hi-there-so-heres-prompt-matt-finally): Matt finally acknowledges in front of Karen that he loves her deeply, more than he would have her believe. And even if they’re not together anymore, he’ll do his absolute best to make up for his mistakes and be at least the friend she deserves. Here, break our hearts now please.**

One morning Karen isn’t sitting there when he walks into the coffee shop. This isn’t completely unheard of — their line of work makes it hard to have an unwavering commitment to anything. Evil doesn’t honor a schedule. But usually, no matter how bruised or broken or tired or hungover they are, they meet for coffee every Wednesday before work.

For Matt, it is a ritual that has become almost sacred.

He takes his place at their usual table and waits for the beating of her heart to fill his ears, to smell her familiar morning mix of citrus and peppermint, with the tinge of gunmetal hiding beneath. But the melange that is Karen fails to appear. After 20 minutes, he slips off his chair and out of the shop.

He finds her in her apartment. He can tell from the thick scent of her shampoo and the dampness in the air that her hair is wet from the shower. Her feet are still bare.

“I’m sorry to barge in,” he says as she lets him through the door. “I was worried. Did you decide to sleep in?”

“I should have called,” she says. Her voice wavers under the weight of unshed tears.

“Karen,” he says, “what is it?”

She doesn’t answer. He can sense her shaking her head. He should leave it alone. But he thinks he knows what this is about — it was all over the news.

“You saw Frank Castle.” Matt takes nervous steps, moving his cane from hand to hand. “You helped him escape.”

She doesn’t deny it. His chest fills with a gasping breath and he huffs it out loudly. Seeds of annoyance and fear and anger bloom and twine inside him. She put herself at risk for him, for that— But then Matt remembers how he let an entire building fall on his head and a bit of the fight goes out of him.

“C’mon,” Karen says thickly. “Let’s get the lecture out of the way.”

And, O Heavenly Father, he wants to let it all bubble out of his throat. Instead, his voice hitches as he says, “You care about him that much?”

Matt can feel the way her shoulders move as she sighs, the way her hand pushes her hair away from her face. For an endless moment, she just breathes. Usually he loves to listen to this — Karen’s lungs are practically musical instruments to him. But he can’t focus on anything but the heavy stone that has settled in his stomach.

“I tend to get attached to people who save my life,” she says finally.

He doesn’t miss the implication. But he still feels like he doesn’t have his sea legs.

“I saw Frank a few times while you were…gone,” she says, and Matt winces at the reminder. “I helped him with some information, and he helped me when I was taken hostage during a bombing at the Royal.”

“Jesus, Karen.” Matt’s hands tighten around his cane. She had needed help and he was too busy giving up on life to be there. And Frank fucking Castle of all people had been the one to come through for her.

“He’s not a monster,” Karen says, and Matt wonders how clearly his thoughts are written on his face.

“I know,” he says guiltily. “But Frank’s still dangerous to be around. He doesn’t have the best judgment.”

She laughs at that, harsh, disbelieving. “You know what he says about _you_? That you’re good.” The pain threaded through her words cuts right into the tender flesh of his heart.

He wants to get out of there. He wants to go away and not deal with any of this. But he can’t. He’s promised himself that, no matter what, he’s going to be the man she needs him to be.

“Whatever is going on between you, I know that’s—that’s your call,” he says hesitantly. “And it probably doesn’t sound like it right now, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. Unequivocally.”

“Matt…”

“I haven’t really been open with you about how I…” He sucks in air, feeling like the room is closing in on him. “I haven’t felt I had the right to. And I still don’t. I know I have so much to make up for. But I…” — he chokes on the words — “I care about you, Karen. More than—more than you can know. And I don’t expect anything from you. I just—I want you to be happy. I’d do anything for you.”

The air carries the salt of her tears into his mouth, and her feet carry her into his arms. She folds herself against his chest and he holds her tight, letting his cane fall away.

“I think we lost him,” Karen says in a strangled voice. “I don’t think he’s coming back from this.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt whispers, meaning it with his whole heart. He lifts his hand to stroke her damp hair as she turns her face into his neck.

“Will you—will you stay?”

“As long as you want me.”


	10. What if ... Matt and Karen got drunk one night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time I prompted myself! :D
> 
> This one shades more toward a Mature rating, with warnings for drunken snuggling and sleepy groping.

Matt found her sitting alone at Josie’s one summer Friday in the wee hours. His hair was still damp and he smelled like soap, so she figured he had noticed her when he was out on the rooftops and come back for her after he’d showered and changed.

Karen didn’t know what she was doing there exactly. She had been trying to find the answer in the bottle of Tullamore Dew that Josie kept behind the bar. It had all just caught up with her, all the darkness, and she didn’t want to go home.

It didn’t seem like Matt’s night had gone very well either. They drank in near-silence for a while, and then it was time for Josie to kick them to the curb.

“Let me walk you home,” Matt said, his hand curling around her elbow.

“I have a better idea,” she said, and she led him back to his place. She got out two glasses and his bottle of Macallan and they picked up where they left off.

“Foggy’s going to be so sad he missed this,” Karen said morosely. And after a beat, they both burst out laughing.

“You OK?” Matt asked when they’d calmed down a little.

“Better,” she said, nodding. “You?”

“I’m fine.”

And that set her back to giggling again. “You have the least convincing ‘I’m fine’ that I have ever heard.” She breathed deeply and put her drink down. “Wanna talk about it?”

“That’s very much a no,” he said, filling his glass again. She picked hers back up and they clinked. Instead, they talked about silly things. Memories of happier times, and the oddities of running a law firm out of a butcher shop, and how much they really did wish Foggy was with them.

Eventually, they lapsed into silence again. And soon Karen’s eyelids felt too heavy to ignore anymore. “Bedtime,” she announced.

“Yeah,” Matt said, smiling at her dopily. But when he stood up, he actually stumbled, and Karen had to help him into his bedroom. He was much less coordinated than she’d ever seen him, and she didn’t understand why.

Then it dawned on her, even through her inebriated haze. Despite all those nights at Josie’s, despite being almost willing to believe he was an _alcoholic_ — she’d never truly seen Matt drunk. She knew now that he usually took it easy because of his second shift. But tonight, done with Daredeviling and in his own home, he’d caught up with her quickly, and then passed her.

She laughed. Drunk Matt was a klutz.

He smiled at the sound as he flopped onto the mattress heavily. She fumbled with the covers, trying to tuck him in, and she was startled when he reached up and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb lightly over her lips. “My sweet Karen,” he said tenderly. “I love it when I dream of you.”

“ _Are_ you dreaming?” she asked with a giggle.

“Must be,” he said, tugging her down against him. “You’re in m’bed.”

“I guess I am,” she said, laughing again.

She had been planning to sleep on the couch, but Matt had already ensnared her in his arms. He was really strong. She wiggled a bit, trying to break his grasp, but he just snuggled more firmly against her as he passed out. And he was so warm, and his bed was really comfortable, and she was so drowsy. She closed her eyes. She’d get up in a minute.

* * *

When Karen woke up, she became slowly aware of the following things:

Her head ached.

Her mouth was dry and gross.

She was still wearing yesterday's clothes.

She was not in her own bed.

She was in Matt’s bed.

With Matt.

And he was holding her.

Spooning her, actually.

He had one arm stretched out beneath her neck and the other curled around her middle, just under her breasts.

In fact, his thumb was resting lightly on her breast.

And he was hard.

She could feel him, pressed against her.

What she felt seemed...impressive.

And he was still asleep.

Once she was aware of all those things, she found herself equally freaked out by how desperately she needed to brush her teeth and how desperately turned on she was.

Just then, she felt Matt sigh and shift, starting to surface from sleep. He nuzzled his face into her hair and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb very pleasantly over her nipple through her clothes. Then he froze.

“Karen.”

He pulled his hand back and rolled away from her. “Holy shit. I’m sorry.”

Her first thought was, _Don’t stop touching me._

Embarrassed by her own reaction, and how close she’d come to actually saying it out loud, she mumbled, “It’s OK. Um, I’m going to go use the bathroom.”

Her head throbbed as she made her way across the bedroom. After she took care of business and washed her hands, she put a little dab of toothpaste on her finger and got rid of the worst of the taste in her mouth. Then she opened up the medicine cabinet, hunting for aspirin or something. Anything to cure the dull pounding of her head. No luck.

She found her purse in the living room. Her little travel-size bottle contained just one pill of Advil. She took it into the kitchen and washed it down with a glass of water. Better than nothing.

Then she poured another tall glass for Matt and went back into the bedroom. He was still lying on his back and he covered his face with his hands as she approached.

"Tried getting up. Didn’t go well," he said. "God, Karen, you must think I’m such a creep."

"No," she said, "it’s not a big deal." _In fact, I liked it. Hold me again._

She put the glass down on the bedside table. “Drink this. I’m going to go get some painkillers.”

"I don’t usually take them."

"Well, _I’m_ not a glutton for punishment."

She was teasing him, but he didn’t smile. He looked so damn miserable — definitely still beating himself up — that she couldn’t help but lean over and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Why do you always forgive me?" he murmured.

"Why do you think?"

"Because you have the patience of a saint."

Karen smiled. "We've been over this. I'm no saint."

"Then why?"

"You really want to know?" she asked, brushing his hair from his face.

"Yes." He leaned into her touch. She remembered the way he said he’d dreamed of her. She remembered how it felt to be in his arms. Maybe this could just be simple for once.

"Because I'm yours," she said. "I always have been."


End file.
